Taking It Slow
by ThisCouldTheoreticallyBeSparta
Summary: They've done angry sex. They do angry sex all the time. But sometimes… it's nice to have a change. And although Tommy is impatient, once in a while he allows it to just slow down, much to his eternal chagrin.


Fandom: Young Avengers

Pairing: Noh-Varr/Tommy Shepherd

Genre: PWP

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: They belong to Marvel, not me, because if they were mine we'd see more boy kissing on panel.

Warning: blowjob?

Summary: They've done angry sex. They do angry sex all the time. But sometimes… it's nice to have a change. And although Tommy is impatient, once in a while he allows it to just slow down, much to his eternal chagrin.

A/n: A little something for a teeny tiny fandom. For DangerousCommieSubversive, Billywick and all the other usual Nohmmy suspects.

And OHMYGOD I wrote porn that isn't between a giant rabbit and an undead teenager. I thought I'd forgotten how.

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They've done angry sex. They do angry sex all the time. It's kind of their thing, an ingrained dynamic of how the fuckery that is _Tommy and Noh-Varr_ works. They snark and snap and shout at each other, eyes flashing, Tommy vibrating and Noh-Varr just barely containing himself from punching through the dry wall of the lair until, all of a sudden, they're all over each other. Crowding against the wall, Noh-Varr demanding entrance with his tongue and Tommy practically undulating against him, and they bite and scratch and tear clothes and a thousand other, wonderful, rough things, and it's _so good_. It's so good it's ridiculous, Tommy can't get enough of it.

And that's how they roll, really. They're not some lovey-dovey couple like Billy and Teddy – in fact, that's kind of a horrific thought for Tommy. He frequently voices the demand to be euthanized should he ever end up like them. But he and Noh-Varr… they're different. They're rough, splintered, too fast and too harsh, a strange mix of lust, rivalry and begrudging admiration. It leaves him breathless when nothing else does.

But sometimes… it's nice to have a change. And although Tommy is impatient, wanting _more_ and _faster_ and _hurry up, goddammit!_, once in a while he allows it to just slow down, much to his eternal chagrin.

It's nice to just lounge in bed and have Noh-Varr do all the work. It's nice to have the roach take his sweet time. For once, foreplay isn't an argument and a groping make-out session against the wall: it's a long drawn out moment of something that could perhaps be described as bliss. Because – he'll never admit it – it's pleasant to be manhandled into position by someone that could break him and won't, wouldn't ever.

He's reluctant to probe the reasons behind allowing this stupid slowness every now and then. That might lead to feelings, and Tommy doesn't do crap like that, even though that's bullshit and he knows it. The only thing a man has is his fake reputation.

Noh-Varr calls it a practical study in human male anatomy, with that quirk of his lips that tells Tommy he should probably knee him in the ribs for that. But he doesn't, because then he'd probably stop sucking at Tommy's collarbone and that wouldn't be much fun.

"Less talking, more licking," he orders, running his hands across a broad back and humming when Noh-Varr heads lower, thumbing his nipples just hard enough to make him gasp. If this were anyone else, his fingers would be tapping out an impatient samba, because he hates waiting. Weird that Noh can actually get him to lie still and take it, look forward to every touch and breath as if it's a godsend. Noh-Varr tugs one of his nipples with his teeth, suckles at it, and it'd be silly if it didn't make Tommy arch into it with a stuttering sigh. His fingers dig into Noh-Varr's shoulders; strong, muscular shoulders and Tommy hadn't ever really looked at a guy twice before him but hey, hormones are hormones and hot aliens defy sexuality, it seems. He doesn't really examine that too much because it's probably just going to confuse him.

And then Noh-Varr's biting at his abs and most thought takes a one-way trip to Who-gives-a-fuck-ville. He leaves marks, possessive, hungry, all over his stomach and Tommy squirms underneath that mouth, all hot breath and _mineminemine_ teeth. He knows where this is heading, and anticipates it with the curve of his back and the broken moan in the back of his throat. The bastard chuckles, as if he finds Tommy's undoing at his own hands extremely entertaining.

Those powerful hands wander down his chest, down his sides, thumbs rubbing at the dips of his hips before continuing along his thighs, nails digging just enough to leave white streaks on pale skin. Noh-Varr's exploring hands chart him out, as if his contours have changed since last time. He'll ask whether he's going to draw a map next time, joke about it, but all amusement is kicked out as he jerks upward with a choked groan.

Noh-Varr hums in triumph, lips pressed to the underside of Tommy's hard cock. One hand slips around his prize and the other spreads across his hips, presses him gently and inexorably down, and Tommy would never, ever have guessed that one day he'd find superstrength, there, latent but unused, such a turn-on. Noh-Varr's tongue flicks out, laps at the head of Tommy's erection like he's some wine-taster and it's a particularly fine Merlot (and screw the fuckers that think juvenile delinquents are all uncultured pricks). He's said before he finds Tommy's taste to be particularly satisfying, as Earth flavours go, and that's a statement that throws Tommy halfway between ridiculously flattered and appalled. How the alien lunatic can state something like that so candidly is beyond Tommy's comprehension.

Tommy groans when Noh-Varr takes him in his mouth, sucking almost lazily, the obscene sounds mingling with Tommy's pants and gasps, an erotic remix of sorts. Noh-Varr's mouth takes him apart with slow insistence, the bobbing of his head and the hum of his appreciation driving Tommy up the wall. With a pop that's simply sinful he pulls away, licking his way up Tommy's shaft before swallowing him down. Tommy can't help but admire that as his body forms a broken arc off the bed and he lets out a cry, too loud, he knows, they'll be heard, but this is him not giving a fuck.

The pleasure going through him right now is enough to make him start to tremble, thrumming with it. Noh-Varr's far too good with his mouth, knows exactly what to do to make Tommy turn inside out with it, until his head's spinning and his voice is one long litany of _yesGodpleaseNohyesmoreohJesusfuckingChristonastick Noh_. His legs start twitching, and because Tommy never does anything halfway his right leg starts to pump. Noh-Varr stills it with his grip, eyebrows quirking and he actually manages to _smirk_ despite having another guy's cock in his mouth. Tommy would dearly love to wipe that smirk off his face, but he can't because all he can really do right now is _beg_. Yes, the great Tommy Shepherd has been reduced to _begging_, ladies and gentleman. Tweet about it, because it doesn't happen often.

Noh-Varr is, however, a magnanimous lover and decides to end Tommy's delicious suffering. He drags his teeth ever-so-slightly along hot flesh until Tommy's writhing with it, all fumbling fingers and shuddering moans… and then he stills. His hand leaves Tommy's hip, the speedster's fingers dig into his hair and Tommy thrusts out what little is left to him, thanking the universe for alien cockroach hybrids and their lack of a gag reflex until he's coming, coming hard and hot and he doesn't think he'll ever _stop_, he's almost sobbing with it.

He slumps back down, heart running too fast even for him, pupils blown and throat raw. His fingers loosen, his legs cease their twitching as he rides the aftershocks, and he lets Noh-Varr kiss him ardently, because even though it sounds cliché there's no other adjective. Hands stroke down his startled-rabbit chest, gentle, soothing, and he lets them. He lets strong arms wrap around him, hold him to a broad chest and he's sure this strange warm flutter in his ribcage is some form of affection, but he does _not_ want to go there. Not yet, anyway. There's time to deal with that later, at some other point, when his judgement isn't clouded with post-blowjob endorphins.

"I take it you found it satisfactory?" Noh-Varr asks, and Tommy doesn't need to see him to know that he's doing that lip-quirk thing. He can hear it in his voice, and if he didn't feel like jello road kill he'd offer up some sort of retribution for it. As it is, he can't be assed to do anything but burrow into that chest and huff softly.

"'M satisfied, bug boy," he says, finding the strength to wrap an arm around Noh-Varr's waist and squeeze gently. That seems to be the extent of his possibilities, though, because post-coital tiredness is knocking on his brain's front door and asking whether it's got any time to hear about the word of Sleep. Noh-Varr shifts until Tommy's splayed across his chest, which as pillows go is pretty fucking awesome, and the speedster plants a lazy kiss on a pec.

One day he'll admit that not only is going slow pretty good every now and then, but Noh-Varr is fast going from 'that guy I argue and have sex with' to 'someone I'm having latent feelings I won't acknowledge for'. Today is not that day, though. Right now, all he can do is let his eyes close.


End file.
